


Lean

by appalachian_fireflies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Best Bisexuals, F/M, Gentle Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Pedophilia, Wonderful Queers, mentions of burned bodies, omg i wrote vanilla het, potentially iffy consent bc alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8766580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: "You can," Tonks pressed against him.  "I'm strong enough."





	

Tonks hung her cloak on the rack near the door, which hissed disquietingly when her fingers brushed it. She took off her boots, one gentle thud at a time, and managed not to wake the portrait of Mrs. Black. The entryway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was still lit, and she murmured a quiet _nox_. 

Dousing the lights used to be Sirius’ job. He haunted the rooms late at night, insomnia carrying him to pace through the entryway, the kitchen, the stairs. 

Most of the other members of the order had homes to go to, families. They would check in at Grimmauld Place when necessary, often during the day. Lupin was second only to Sirius in time spent at Grimmauld Place; with the passage of Umbridge’s new law restricting the employment of werewolves, Tonks suspected he had nowhere else to go.

Lupin, however, could not be relied upon to douse the lights, as he tended to fall asleep wherever he sat. After Sirius’ death, the task then fell to the member of the Order who also had no family obligations, and preferred the convenience of sleeping at Grimmauld Place. 

Out went the light in the kitchen, then the bathroom. She was about to go up the stairs to her claimed room until she saw a very faint light emanating from the open library door. 

Remus had fallen asleep in one of the large library chairs, a book open across his lap and a cold mug of tea on the windowsill. It was not a particularly comfortable chair, hard wood and straight-backed, meant more to impress guests than be utilitarian. Remus had nevertheless managed to fall quite soundly asleep, neck canted at an unnatural angle. It would be remarkable, had Tonks not already seen him fall asleep standing up against a wall. 

Sirius’ death had taken a toll on Remus, quietly, privately. He’d withdrawn; the phrase retreating to lick his wounds came to mind, though Tonks thought Remus might not appreciate the metaphor. He’d thrown himself into the task Dumbledore had assigned him, to be, as Remus said “with his peers”- werewolves joining Voldemort, in camps where stealing and assault meant survival. When he came home he was usually dirty and ragged, and would disappear immediately to shower and shave. A couple hours later, he would be asleep. 

Tonks had done the math; the man was only in his mid-thirties, yet it seemed that every day now fewer of his sandy brown hairs remained amongst the grey. In that stiff old chair, Remus looked so exhausted that Tonks contemplated leaving him there, but knew it would not be doing him a favor. 

“Remus,” she called out softly, and saw him stir. He was a frequent sleeper, but a light one. 

“Nym-Tonks,” he blinked at her, yawned, then moved to stretch. He froze mid-stretch, winced, and gave her a pained smile. “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake,” he said ruefully, turning to stretch his neck. 

She laughed and crossed the room, standing behind him. “Hold still,” she instructed, confidently lifting her hands to press her thumbs into the muscles of his neck. 

Remus went still as if she’d transferred a body-bind curse with her touch. “Relax,” she scolded, and felt him shift. 

“You don’t have to,” he said feebly and she pressed her thumb down one of the spasming muscles, but he did not move away. 

“Oh, hush,” she muttered distractedly, and worked her way through the muscle until it relaxed, feeling Remus’ body go with it under her fingers. She moved to the occipitals, scapulae, broadly down into the trapezius. It was a bit addictive, to feel a man like Remus relaxing so completely under her touch. He’d slipped into such an easy quietude that she found she didn’t want to stop. 

Tonks scraped her fingernails up through Remus scalp, felt the muscles contract involuntarily in a shiver. He shifted, as if about to pull away, and she stopped. When her hands had returned to her sides, though, Remus still had not turned away from her. She looked at the bare nape of his neck, the small soft hairs near the base of his cleanly shaven jaw. 

She leaned in, at just at the spot where jaw met neck, where he’d shivered when she’d touched him, and pressed a soft kiss. 

“Tonks,” Remus said softly, but she’d already stepped away to leave the room. 

“You’d better go up to bed,” she winked back at him, looking away from the odd, open look in his eyes. It was something like fear. “Don’t put all my work to waste.” 

*

Remus wasn’t a drinker, not like Sirius had been. He had a glass or two every once and a while with meals. That was why, when Tonks came to Grimmauld Place at two in the morning, ready to pass out as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was surprised to see Remus in the kitchen with a bottle of the cellar’s best and a single glass. 

He was slumped over the small table in the kitchen, staring at nothing in particular, clenching the now empty glass in a white-knuckled hand. Even he could not fall asleep with his eyes open, and he startled when he noticed her. 

“Constant vigilance,” she teased, and he gave her a half smile. 

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, not waiting for his answer to pull out a glass. 

“How’s work?” he asked, and she laughed, short. 

“Oh, lovely, thank you for asking,” she poured herself a generous amount of liquor. “Few more bodies today, muggles burned to death. Haven’t identified the remains yet, on account of they’re mostly charred skin and bone.” 

Remus looked a bit surprised by her candor, and leaned over to briefly clasp her shoulder and tap their glasses together. 

“How about you?” she gave him a look, and refilled his glass.

“Mm,” he took a swallow of his drink, then looked out into the dark dining room. He paused for so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he cleared his throat. 

“There are children at the camp,” Remus looked pensively into his glass. “Greyback likes to turn them young, you know. Take them when their parents disown them. Make them dependent on him for their survival. Grow up to be loyal.” He took another long gulp. “He’s a pedophile,” he stated plainly. 

“Blimey,” Tonks sat down. It was odd; somewhere, she was sure she had known this, but somehow her mind had skirted from the reality of it. 

“I’m feeling very… helpless,” Remus poured himself another glass. “Most of the werewolves are with Voldemort, and I can’t blame them. The Ministry would certainly rather see them dead and destitute. I can’t-“ he broke off, and sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” Tonks reached out to take his hand, and he started at the contact. 

“It’s fine,” he gave her a small smile, and made to put the cork back in the bottle. 

“Remus,” she persisted, and moved closer to him. “It’s not fine. None of us are fine.” 

He didn’t respond, just stood very still, waiting for her to move away. 

She leaned in, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him to her. His fingers clenched convulsively in the fabric of her robes, then he pulled himself away. 

“Good night,” he said quickly, then brushed past her on the way out of the room. 

*

Arthur’s birthday was, despite the world outside the Burrow, despite Molly’s tight smiles and the clock hands fixed on “moral peril,” an event filled with joy. Everyone was a bit tipsy, full of Molly’s good cooking and surrounded by friends. 

Even Remus, quietly sitting in the corner with his slice of cake, was smiling at the cheery conversations taking place around him. He was tucked into one of Molly’s cozy armchairs by the fireplace, apparently content to be forgotten by the others deep in conversation. 

Tonks strode over to him, and he looked up at her in greeting. 

“Hallo,” she sat on the cushioned arm of his chair, feeling warm from the wine and company. She casually brushed her hand through his hair, knowing it was pushing a bit, but. She wanted to do it. She wanted to come into the corner where Remus separated himself from the others, to touch him, to think about that night when he’d relaxed under her hands. 

He laughed gently when she did so, and tilted his head up at her. “How many times do you think Molly’s mentioned Arthur’s promotion?” 

“Oh,” Tonks laughed, “I’ve lost count. P’raps a couple hundred? Should’ve kept a tally.” 

Remus laughed genuinely at this, his eyes dancing. “You must know his greatest ambition by now, yes? The security question?” 

“Right,” Tonks sat up straight, and thickened her jowls, threw on some facial hair and disappeared her short, bubblegum pink hair. She cleared her throat, and looked solemnly at Remus. “How do airplanes, stay up.”

Remus immediately began laughing so hard he covered his face with his hands to hide it, then, losing the battle, leant over to gasp in air. 

“What is the function,” Tonks continued seriously, “of a rubber duck?” 

“Haha, oh,” Remus clutched at his stomach, “that is _uncanny_.” 

Tonks laughed too, giving herself proud little shake as she returned to herself. She loved to do this, to make people happy. She smiled down at Remus, and finally he looked back up at her. 

She’d never seen Remus smile like this before, a true smile that met his eyes and transformed his weary expression into something else. It was beautiful, she thought, and she felt that sensation that she’d felt in her gut the other day in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Moved. She wanted to be near him, to touch him, to make him laugh like this. 

His expression was settling now into his default kind, tired look. He wiped a hand over his face, and she noticed- 

“There’s icing,” she reached forward automatically, “on your lip.” She brushed her thumb over his lip, and his breath caught. She looked into his eyes, and, all at once, his expression shuttered closed. She was sad to see it go. 

*

Tonks noticed now how often she saw Remus; reading, sleeping, eating. She noticed the way he carried himself in his threadbare robes, the quiet and steady way he moved. The smaller, fine scars on his hands that he tucked away into his sleeves, the way he always wore his shirts buttoned all the way up. The quick, intelligent glances he gave at Order meetings that sometimes lingered on her. 

She noticed just how carefully he hid himself; he tucked himself into corners, hunched his shoulders to make himself smaller. He smiled carefully, kindly, non-threateningly. 

Most of all, she learned that Remus spent considerable energy hiding his pain from others. Piles of blood-soaked bandages might turn up in the bin in his bedroom, but no one would see the wounds they came from. When he thought he was alone, he’d press at the joint of his left hip absently to stop the pain. She was fairly sure he was in pain all the time, and certain that it got worse in the week leading up to the full moon. She wondered if, since Sirius had died, anyone else knew. 

She saw him hobble stiffly to the kitchen one late morning after the full moon, felt a pang, and thought, _I hurt when you hurt_. 

It was happening more now, that she would return late to find Remus with one of the bottles from the cellar, staring off into the empty kitchen. Normally, she could not tolerate this, Remus alone in the dark with quiet, unfathomable thoughts. Normally, she would try to join him, to distract him, to make him laugh. 

Tonight, though, she’d managed to come in quietly. Tonight, Remus was silently crying, not bothering to lift a hand to wipe at his cheeks, as if he hadn’t noticed. 

The bottom had dropped out of the world; any remaining belief in safety was gone. Dumbledore was dead. 

Tonks took the glass from his fingers, and knelt next to him. She didn’t press her fingers through his hair, but gently cupped his face in both of her hands. He looked up at her, and she felt that pang, _I hurt when you hurt_. 

“Remus,” she said softly, and leaned in and kissed him. 

He pulled away at once, standing, but her body was between him and the door, and he would not push past her. She stepped closer to him, and he did not move. She stepped forward until the length of her body pressed against his, soft and warm beneath the worn fabric of her Weird Sisters t-shirt. 

“Dora,” he said, very quietly, and she raised her arms and threaded her hands through his hair, resting them on the back of his neck. 

“Dora, please,” he said, a little desperately now. “You don’t want me.” 

“I don’t?” she raised an eyebrow. “I thought I’d given you my answer to that. I could tell you I don’t appreciate you making my decisions for me,” she moved her fingers to the collar of his shirt, and slowly worked at the button there. “That I don’t deserve to be patronized.” She flicked open the button, and he still did not push past her. “But that would get me nowhere, wouldn’t it?” She began working on the next button, and his hand on top of hers stopped her.

“None of us know how much time we have left,” she continued, toying with the button under his fingers. “I’m frightened, and I know you are too. But it’s ok,” she flicked open the button and moved her hands down, daring him to stop her. “This is ok. We can have this.” 

“I can’t,” Remus’ voice was soft, watching her separating the plackets button by button. 

“You can,” she said firmly. “Because I can handle it. I’m strong enough, Remus,” she slipped her hands underneath his shirt, over his back, not pausing over the ropy lines of scars underneath her fingers. His breathing quickened; she could feel his ribs move beneath her hands. “Show me, love,” she said, and leaned up to kiss him, pressing in. 

Remus made a noise into her mouth like a little sob. His heart was beating rapidly under her touch, his skin warm and alight with nerves, back arching as her fingers brushed down his spine. His body finally, after so many months, broke under her touch again. He kissed back, pressing into her, his hands slipping underneath her t-shirt to grasp her hips. 

She felt her own breath catch now, her heart beating fast, body trembling a bit with how badly she wanted him. How could he say she didn’t? 

Remus’ fingers paused on the waistband on her jeans, and she flicked open the button so that his fingers slipped easily underneath to press at her lower belly. She rubbed up against him to feel him responding to her, and gave his hand a gentle tug downwards, punctuating her request with a bite to his lip. 

Remus bent to kiss the side of her neck and slipped a finger into her cunt; it was so easy, she was so wet that she had to gasp in breaths to stay upright, to dig her nails into his back to anchor herself. She cried out when one finger became two, and he’d crooked them to stroke inside her- he’d done this before, she wasn’t sure, because of Sirius- 

He ran his thumb over her clit, and her legs shook so badly that he pressed her against the stool for support, continuing to kiss her neck, finding the spots that made her gasp in air. 

“Dora, Dora,” he said softly, and she came hard around his fingers, grateful that he kept moving them through her orgasm even though she couldn’t find the breath to ask. 

She felt him start to move away, and thought of his control slipping into place again, shutting her and the world out. She held on tightly, nails leaving little crescent moons as she found her breath. 

She leaned up and kissed him, pressed right past the polite comfort he offered and back into his space. She stood again and pressed him back against the stool opposite her until he was forced to sit, stood over him so that he had to tilt his head back to meet her lips. She undid the clasp of his trousers after a couple fumbles, felt him smile into their kiss, and decided she wanted to feel that again. Remus smiling during sex, teasing her, replacing pain with pleasure and comfort. 

She scraped her nails down gently over his belly, felt the sharp bones of his pelvis, palm brushing against the warm skin of his cock. She let her hand run over the length, exploring, smiled when she felt his breath catch. She held him loosely in her hand, and he groaned, dropping his forehead to her collarbone. 

He was very sweet like this, she thought as stroked him, his forehead rubbing against her chest, the soft noise he made when she kissed the top of his head. She ran her thumb over the head of his cock, her touch light, and she felt his lips press against her breast through the fabric of her t-shirt. Soon, he was gasping and coming into her hand, shivering at the steady movement through the aftershocks. 

She could feel him freeze, draw in a breath. He looked up at her, expression tight with fear and remorse. His hands still held to the soft curve of her hips like a lifeline. She placed a finger on his lips. 

“Can’t sleep here,” she said gently. She removed her finger from his lips, and pressed a kiss there instead. “Let’s go to bed.”


End file.
